Chapter 6 Liam
Iwoke up on the couch with a crick in my neck and the worst headache of my life.
For a second, I didn't remember why I was there, why I hadn't slept in our bed, why the apartment felt too quiet and too empty. Then it all came rushing back in a sick wave that made my stomach clench.
Piper's face in the doorway, the cupcakes hitting the floor. God, the way she'd looked at me… like she didn't know me anymore, like I was a stranger who'd wandered into her life wearing someone else's skin.
How long?
Since March.
I sat up slowly, rubbing my eyes. My phone was on the coffee table where I'd left it hours ago, screen dark. I'd passed out around three in the morning after calling her God knows how many times and texting her until my thumbs went numb, begging her to just talk to me, to let me explain.
She hadn't answered any of my messages.
I grabbed the phone now and tried again, my heart pounding stupidly as I hit her name and listened to it ring.
"The number you are trying to reach—"
I hung up before the message finished. Tried texting instead, thumbs moving faster than my brain.
Piper, please. Just let me explain.
The message turned green immediately. Undelivered.
She'd blocked me.
The reality of that settled in my chest like smoke that wouldn’t clear.
I stood up and paced to the kitchen, needing to move, needing to do something with my hands.
I opened the fridge without thinking and the light flickered on, catching on a few slices of cake still sitting on the middle shelf.
They were wrapped in cling film, the labels written in Piper’s looping handwriting.
The ink had started to blur, but I could still tell which was which.
She’d always been meticulous like that.
I closed the fridge and pressed my forehead against the cool metal door, trying to breathe.
The apartment was full of her. Everywhere I looked, there was something that reminded me she was gone.
Her running shoes by the front door, the ones she never remembered to put away.
Her coffee mug in the sink from yesterday morning, still with a lipstick print on the rim.
The wedding binder on the coffee table, resting beside a stack of wedding planning magazines, pages dog-eared and covered in her neat handwriting.
I walked over and picked up the top one. She'd circled centerpiece options in purple pen, written "too expensive" next to half of them and "maybe?" next to the others. There was a Post-it note stuck to one page:
Ask Liam about burgundy vs. navy for groomsmen ties.
The wedding was five weeks away. Just over a month until two hundred people were supposed to show up and watch us get married.
My parents had contributed eight thousand dollars.
Her parents had given ten. We'd paid deposits on everything: the venue, the catering, the photographer.
My mom had been texting me all week about the rehearsal dinner, asking if we'd decided between the Italian place or the steakhouse.
Everyone still thought we were getting married.
Everyone except Piper.
I dropped the magazine back on the table and sank onto the couch, running my hands through my hair. How had I let it get this far? How had four months of... what? Stupidity? Weakness? How had four months of sneaking around destroyed six years?
It had started after a bad call. Three-alarm fire, residential building, and we'd pulled two kids out but couldn't get to their mom in time.
I'd been shaken up, we all were, and a bunch of us had gone to McGinty's afterward to decompress.
Jenna was new to the station, barely three months in, and she'd been quiet during the debrief but she'd come to the bar anyway.
Piper had been working late that night—grading papers, prepping for parent-teacher conferences, doing the thousand little things she always had on her list. I'd texted her that I was grabbing a drink with the crew and she'd sent back a heart emoji and told me to be safe.
Jenna had sat next to me and asked if I was okay. Actually listened when I talked about the call, about how I kept seeing that woman's face, about how sometimes this job just got under your skin. Piper would have listened too, but Piper wasn't there.
One drink had turned into three. Jenna's hand on my arm had felt warm and steady. When she'd kissed me in the parking lot, I'd told myself it was just the adrenaline, just the aftermath of a shitty day, just one time.
But it hadn't been just one time.
My phone buzzed on the coffee table and I grabbed it, hoping—
It was Jenna.
Are you okay? I've been worried about you.
I stared at the text, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I should just delete it. I should block her number and never talk to her again. She was the reason I'd lost everything.
But she wasn't, was she? I was the reason. I'd made every choice that led to Piper walking out that door.
Before I could decide what to say, my phone buzzed again.
Can I come over? I think we should talk.
My thumb kept hovering over the keyboard, but I couldn't figure out what to type. Yes felt wrong. No felt worse. I didn't know what I wanted, didn't know what I should want.
I set the phone down without responding.
For twenty minutes, I sat there on the couch, staring at nothing. The apartment was too quiet. Too full of Piper and too empty of her at the same time. I kept seeing her face in that doorway, kept hearing the crash of the cupcakes hitting the floor.
The doorbell rang, and I knew who it was before I opened the door.
Jenna stood in the hallway, still in her workout clothes. Leggings and a tank top, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked worried, her eyes searching my face like she was checking for damage. Then she glanced past me into the apartment, quick and nervous.
"Is she… is Piper here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"No," I said. "She left last night."
Something flickered across Jenna's face. Relief, maybe, or something else I couldn't read. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You didn't answer my texts."
I should have told her to leave. Should have closed the door and dealt with this mess on my own. But I was tired and hungover and my entire life was falling apart, and Jenna was standing there looking at me like I was someone worth worrying about.
I stepped aside and let her in.
She walked past me into the living room, taking in the space like she'd never seen it before. She had, though. Twice. Both times when Piper was working late, both times when I'd told myself it was the last time.
"God, Liam," she said, turning to face me. "Are you okay? You look—"
"Like shit. I know." I closed the door and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted. "I didn't sleep much.”
"Did you talk to her?" Jenna wrapped her arms around herself, uncomfortable. "After she… after yesterday?"
"Yeah. She knows everything.”
Jenna wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted… I didn't mean for her to find out like that."
"How did you want her to find out?" The words came out harsher than I'd meant them to.
She flinched. "I don't know. I just… I feel terrible, Liam. I've been up all night thinking about it."
I pushed off the door and walked to the kitchen, needing distance. "Yeah, well. Join the club."
She followed me, her footsteps quiet on the hardwood. "What did she say? When you talked to her?"
"We didn't really talk. She just…” I braced my hands on the counter, staring at the coffee maker. Piper had made coffee yesterday morning, kissed me goodbye before I left for my shift. Less than twenty-four hours ago, everything had been normal. "She left. Just packed a bag and left."
"I'm sorry," Jenna said again, softer this time. She was close now, close enough that I could smell her perfume. Something citrusy and sharp, nothing like Piper's vanilla and warmth. "This is all my fault."
"It's not your fault. I'm the one who…” I stopped. What? Made the choice? Kept making the choice, over and over for months? "I did this."
"We both did."
I turned to look at her. She was watching me with those dark eyes, the same eyes that had looked at me across the bar four months ago, the ones that had made me forget everything I should’ve remembered.
"Maybe this is for the best, though," she said quietly.
"What?"
"You weren't happy, Liam. You and Piper… you were going through the motions. The wedding, the house, all of it. You were stuck, I could tell..”
I hadn’t said that. But I hadn’t stopped her from thinking it, from building the story she needed. I’d let her, because it made me feel less like the bad guy.
"I didn't mean—"
"And now you're not stuck anymore." She took a step closer, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. "Now we can actually be together. No more hiding. No more sneaking around. We can just—”
"Jenna." I caught her wrist, but I didn't move away. Couldn't seem to make myself move away. "I need to fix this. I need to talk to Piper."
"She left you." Her voice was gentle, but there was something else underneath it… and it sounded almost like satisfaction. "She walked out, Liam. She’s gone. But me… I’m right here."
Her other hand came up to my face, her thumb brushing across my jaw. I could feel the warmth of her body, close enough that it would be so easy to just—
For a second, just a second, I let myself imagine it. Kissing her. Letting everything with Piper go. No more guilt, no more wedding to stress over, no more having to face what I'd done. Just this. Just easy.
I'd done it before. Four months of making the easy choice, the selfish choice. Four months of taking what I wanted and telling myself it didn't mean anything.
It would be so simple to do it again.
Jenna's eyes searched mine, waiting. Her lips were parted slightly, and I could smell her perfume, feel her breath. All I had to do was lean in.
My hands came up to her waist.
Then I saw it over her shoulder: Piper's coffee mug in the sink, that faint lipstick mark on the rim. It was the one with the chipped handle that she refused to throw away because I'd given it to her on our first anniversary.
I stepped back.
"I can't," I said, my voice rough. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this."
Jenna's hand dropped. "You can't or you won't?"
"Both. Neither. I don't know." I ran my hands through my hair. "I need to fix things with Piper. The wedding's in five weeks. Everyone's expecting—"
"You're worried about the wedding?" She laughed, sharp and bitter. "Jesus, Liam. She caught us together. She's not going to marry you."
"You don't know that."
"I do know that. Any woman with self-respect would—" She stopped herself, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I just thought… I thought we meant something. I thought this meant something."
"It did. It does. I just…” What could I possibly say? That she'd been a mistake? That I’d been bored, selfish, looking for something to make me feel alive for all the wrong reasons? "I need time to figure this out."
She stared at me for a long moment, her jaw tight.
"Fine," she said. "Keep pretending she’s coming back. Some of us live in reality.”
She walked past me, and I didn't stop her. Didn't say anything as she let herself out, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made my chest ache.
I stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by Piper's things and the smell of someone else's perfume, and tried to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do now.
I needed to talk to Piper. Face to face. If I could just explain, if I could just make her understand that it didn't mean anything, that she was the one I loved, that we could fix this…
But where was she?
She wasn’t answering her phone. She'd blocked my number, wouldn't see my texts or calls even if she wanted to.
Could she be at her parents? No, she wouldn't go there. Her mom would lose her mind about the wedding, bombard her with a thousand questions, and Piper wouldn't subject herself to that. Not right now.
A friend's place? Maybe. But most of her close friends were mutual friends, people from the station or people we'd met together. She wouldn't want to put them in the middle.
Which left one option.
Maya.